Gaining 40 Pounds Made My Sex Life Better Than Ever

Sure, I have my love handles, but if everything else feels so great — like, inside — why stress?

By
Natalie Wall

Mar 22, 2017

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I was recently having sex with my significant other when I noticed 3 new fat rolls on my stomach. Granted, I wasn't in the most flattering position for my body — it was some kind of hybrid of missionary and doggy style — but there they were, gleaming in the morning sun. And yet, I came — hard.

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I've always struggled with relationship with my body sans clothes — but what woman hasn't? For as long as I can remember, I've been overweight. I've been on diets since I was 6 years old. I couldn't fit into jeans until I hit my teenage years, and that's only because I didn't eat for a week. Then puberty moved some of my weight to my boobs and all of a sudden I looked "normal."

Since college, my weight has yo-yoed from 120 to 140 to 160 to 130 and back to 160. I'm now 5 foot 2 inches tall and, as of my most recent weigh-in, I weigh 166 pounds — my heaviest to date. My BMI is 30.4, making me technically obese. Granted, if you saw a picture of me you would disagree — I just look curvy, with big breasts, a big ass, and cellulite. BMI doesn't seem to take into account your bra size.

Yet, despite my discomfort with my body while naked, I've always been fairly confident with clothes on. From a young age, I knew my mind mattered more than my body did. God forbid I found Saturday Night Live more important than bebe shirts or Juicy Couture velour pants. And sure, I was bullied for my weight, but I didn't care. To me, those girls and boys fixated on their outside appearances were stupid. All that mattered to me was learning, getting good grades, and getting into a good college.

Then I ended up at a school with a work hard, play hard mentality. Everyone there was gorgeous. I'm very pretty (I know, so humble), but these people had rock hard abs and great grades. I didn't even know having both was even possible; I thought it was one or the other. Starting college chubby and still a virgin was a challenge — I was a naive 18-year-old surrounded by hot blonde friends and no guys even flirted with me. Inevitably, this new reality created a dark monster that lurked inside my head, constantly whispering, "Who's going to want to have sex with you the way your body looks?"

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Inevitably, this new reality created a dark monster that lurked inside my head, constantly whispering, Who's going to want to have sex with you the way your body looks?

Fast forward 7 years later, and I still hadn't had an orgasm from sex. Masturbating was no problem. But during sex, with another person? The lights had to be turned off. If possible, some part of clothing was left on. And no matter how big a man's penis or how good his moves in bed were, my mind was focused on my stomach. Being on top felt best, but I couldn't separate myself from my stomach, as though I was the third wheel to my jiggling stomach.

But here's the crazy thing: My stomach wasn't even really jiggling. In college, I had gotten in shape and lost weight, and I was still running 4 to 5 miles a day. I told myself the constant exercise was for my health, but I knew the truth: I was trying to keep up with college hotties I never seemed to be able to escape. I couldn't not exercise every day — once I stopped, I thought, the weight would rush back. And I often would find myself thinking: If I don't stay fit, guys won't find me attractive.

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Then I hit a very dark year: I was with a man who seemed to really care about me. But sometimes he would withhold sex from me. Soon, he becomes my worst nightmare: He would say bad things about my body — specifically pointing out things about my body that made him not want to have sex with me. Of course. My lack of orgasms was my fault; I wasn't attractive enough.

That's the funny thing about emotionally abusive relationships: They play tricks on your mind, slowly contaminating the truth into twisted lies. That's why those boys didn't flirt with me in college, I thought, this guy was just telling me the truth I always feared. When I was with this guy, I couldn't tell he was the reason for my lack of sexual fulfillment.

I eventually broke up with him for good, and I just stopped caring. I stopped caring that no matter how many miles I run, I will always have cellulite on my thighs. I stopped caring what people would think about my body. I finally said a metaphorical "Fuck you!" to all the men in the world who judged my body, and I decided to focus on me.

You can't make me come? You're out. You can't fit into my schedule? You're out. And if you don't like my body as it is? You're definitely out. Instead of obsessively taking care of what was on the outside, I started taking care of myself mentally — and that meant I stopped working out. Soon, men were coming in and out of my life organically, each one bringing a new orgasm from new sex positions. I gained some weight. I didn't care. But more importantly, I didn't notice. I was happy, and no longer fixated on the idea that a number on the scale would get a man to want me.

And, frankly, I haven't noticed that I've hit 166 pounds this month. I mean, I noticed on the scale, but not in the mirror. When I look in the mirror, I don't see a number. I just see that I'm happy. Sure, I have my love handles, but if everything else feels so great — like, inside — why stress?

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I've been with someone for the past 2 years and, together, we've both gained weight. But the sex has never been better. Why? We've each reached a point in our lives where we can fully let go of all our inner demons and just say fuck it and enjoy ourselves and our bodies as they are. And, yes, I orgasm. A lot.

Some people say good orgasms come from finding that one person who just "gets it." I completely disagree. Good orgasms come from loving yourself and knowing exactly what you and your body want. My body wants sex on top...and some cushion for the pushin'. I figured that out on my own; my boyfriend just came along at the right time and gets to reap the benefits.

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